


Home Sweet Home

by Aki_Aiko



Series: Domestic [6]
Category: Glee
Genre: Domestic Violence, Eating Disorder, M/M, Mental Illness, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Content, dark!Karofsky, dub-con, psychological abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 14:31:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1652063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aki_Aiko/pseuds/Aki_Aiko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave finds him and Kurt a home in New York, where's everything's going to work out just fine.  Part of the Domestic  'verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home Sweet Home

**Author's Note:**

> I've been debating on whether or not to post this because of its disturbing themes but then realized-hell, this whole series is disturbing and it's a part of it. So. Here it is. Road to Lima, Ohio should be the next and last part.
> 
> PLEASE pay heed to the warnings: rape, noncon, domestic violence, psychological abuse. Disturbing issues all around.

"We're home."

Dave put the car in park and glanced at the backseat where Kurt lay on his side, arms and legs hanging limply over the edge of the seat. This was it. They were home. It was going to be just how Dave had imagined it would be.

He had left late that night and now the sky was just starting to brighten with morning sunlight as he pulled Kurt from the car. Kurt squinted his eyes to block out the light when he stumbled from the car and looked around. At the sound of a horn in the distance, he jumped, then pressed himself against Dave's side, clinging to him tightly, shivering with fear.

It was okay, though. Everything had worked out just like Dave planned. The two of them were together now, even had their own place and everything. In a week or two Kurt would be just fine.

He put his arm around Kurt's shoulder. It took a few minutes finding the office, but soon he had a set of house keys in one hand as he followed the landlord to one of the square buildings their apartment was located in. The whole time Kurt kept his face buried against Dave's chest. It earned them a few odd looks from the landlord but Dave just jutted his chin up defiantly and tightened his grip on Kurt's s shoulder.

One of the great things about being in New York, the place he knew Kurt had wanted to go to so badly, was that here he didn't have to hide what he was. If he wanted to, he could kiss Kurt right there and nobody would say a word about it. He didn't have to worry about people slinging gay slurs his way or have to listen to his parents' uneasy one-way conversations that went nowhere. He could be whoever he wanted here.

Once they were left alone, Dave pried Kurt off him and sat him on the couch. Kurt pulled his legs up against his chest and stared at the opposite wall.

"You want pizza?" Dave asked, pulling out his cell phone.

He got no response, of course, so he'd just take that as a yes. He wasn't eating any of that healthy, frou-frou crap, though. He was a big guy who needed lots of calories, and Kurt definitely needed the weight that stuff would add onto his body. He'd lost a lot of weight this past year. The clothes Dave had bought him hung off his thin frame. What with the big clothes and long hair, he looked kind of like a girl.

Totally not what Dave was into, he could admit that now. Sure, he liked how delicate Kurt looked and how his hips swayed like a girl's when he walked, but Kurt was a guy. He liked that about him, too. In fact, Dave had touched every inch of that body and knew, without a doubt, that it was hot. Touching some other guy's junk turned him on way more than he thought it would.

He plopped down on the couch and looked over at Kurt, who was chewing on his nails again. It was a bad habit he'd picked up lately. They would definitely have to work on stopping that. Kurt's eyes cut to him and he lowered his hands back down to wrap around his knees again. Dave smirked, resisting the urge to pat the other boy on the head like he was a trained dog.

Kurt uncoiled himself and scooted closer, until they sat pressed together, hips and sides touching. Dave slung an arm over his shoulder and pulled him closer. Kurt took the moment to lean over and press a soft kiss against Dave's lips. Dave hummed appreciatively, grasping onto the back of Kurt's neck and deepening the kiss into something rougher, all teeth and tongue.

By the time the doorbell rang with their food, the two of them were spread out on the couch, Kurt's small body underneath Dave's hulking frame. Dave groaned at the sound of the doorbell going off and pried himself off the couch regretfully, leaving Kurt panting and making small whining noises of disappointment.

Dave flung open the door, threw some money at the pimply loser with the boxes, and hurried back to the couch where Kurt waited for him. He tossed the two pizzas on the floor in front of the couch and lowered himself back down. Hell, cold pizza was still good pizza. Kurt grasped onto him and jerked his hips upwards against Dave, moaning at the friction it caused. Dave ground his much heavier weight down. He captured Kurt's moans with his mouth, thrusting his tongue in and out in a rhythm timed to the press of his hips.

He watched Kurt eat his food mechanically afterwards. Sauce dripped from his lips and onto his t-shirt, but he didn't seem to care at the mess he made. Dave swiped at his chin with his thumb in a futile attempt to clean the food off his face. They could shower together later. Tomorrow, they'd work on putting Kurt back together again.

Dave was reminded the little antique store his mom used to take him to a few towns over. There was a sign on the wall which read, 'you break it, you buy it.'

Well, he'd broken Kurt, now he'd have to pay for it.

+

Sometimes Kurt made Dave nervous, just being there. He contained all the information needed to bring the police around the moment Dave's back was turned. But he couldn't just stay locked away in this apartment. There were bills to pay and groceries to buy, and furniture. The apartment came with the basics-a couch, a bed, a few lamps-but they'd need more and as much as Dave had saved up over the past two years, the money he had wouldn't last long in a city last this. He needed a job. Which meant leaving Kurt alone in the apartment.

He found Kurt in the kitchen, staring at the refrigerator like it was going to pop open with the power of his mind or something. Weirdo.

"Hey."

Kurt turned towards him, head doing that tilting thing.

"I'm going out." Dave shifted on his feet. Why the hell did this feel so awkward? He had to remember, make Kurt remember, who was in charge here. Gripping Kurt's chin in one hand and tilting the thin face up, he added, "If you leave here, I will find you and kill you. Do you understand?"

There was a small nod against his fingers.

"Say it."

"I understand," Kurt whispered. His voice, which used to be so light and airy, sounded raspy to Dave's ears.

He shoved Kurt backwards, hard enough that he stumbled a few feet before his back hit the kitchen counter behind him. They stared at each other a moment. Dave looked away.

"I'll be back," he said gruffly.

There stores in this city were so crowded compared to the grocery store in Lima. Dave knew it was ridiculous, but it felt like people were staring at him as he walked by, as if they knew the secret he was keeping locked away at home. They had no idea what he'd done. And if they did...they'd never understand that it had to be done.

A magazine rack lined the back wall and it was huge, so much bigger than what they had at their local supermarket back home. Some of the covers weren't even written in English. One title in particular caught his eye. Vogue. He knew he'd seen it before. It was one of those girly magazines Kurt and his black girl friend used to gush over back in high school. Dave had seen it clutched in Kurt's arms a few times as he sashayed down the halls.

The English one was a given, so he grabbed it off the shelf and tossed it into the buggy, but did Kurt read Italia? Or was it French? Whatever. He took both copies, just in case, along with some other titles like Glamour and Cosmopolitan. It was all girly crap, so Kurt should like them.

Dave went home with a fluttery stomach. This was it. Either there'd be a police officer there, ready to arrest him, or Kurt had been good and was waiting for him like he was told to. Dave pulled his father's gun from the glove compartment and tucked it carefully into the waistband of his jeans, concealing it under his shirt before stepping out the of the car, then grabbed a few bags from the backseat.

Kurt was gone.

Dave raged through the house, lashing out at the things around him. How could he have been so stupid? He should have locked the other boy up.

It was in the bathroom that he saw it. An electric chord trailed from the outlet near the bathroom sink and ran under the closed door to the closet which held a couple of towels given to him by his mother before he'd left. Kurt was curled up under the bottom shelf, a lamp near his feet giving off a steady glow of light. Dave grabbed him by the arm and pulled him out.

"What the fuck?"

He wasn't supposed to be doing that now.

Kurt's eyes were sleepy and out of focus as he leaned upwards, lips aimed at Dave's mouth. Dave shoved him away. He didn't know how it happened, but one moment Kurt' was staring at him, confused, the next he was folded in half and gagging, Dave's fist buried into his stomach. Dave pulled away quickly and all but ran from the room. He hadn't meant to do that.

The grocery bags made a pile in the middle of the kitchen as he slowly brought them in from outside. Kurt wandered into the room as he was putting it all away. Dave shoved one of the bags across the little island table. Puzzled, Kurt peeked inside. He slowly spread the magazines across the counter and stared at them so long Dave started to get a little worried.

"What?" he asked. Those foreign magazines were expensive, he had better like them.

Kurt ran a finger over the cover of the French Vogue. Guy probably didn't even realize he was crying.

"It's just a stupid magazine, not like I bought you diamonds or something."

With a small smile, Kurt gathered them all up in his arms and padded into the living room, where he curled up on the couch to read. Dave grunted and turned back to unpacking, a small thrill of pleasure running through him.

Later that night, as the two of them lay tangled up in bed, he tried to ignore the black bruise coloring Kurt's torso, but the only way he could stop thinking about it was to pull the blankets up and turn away.

+

The magazines worked well as a distraction...for about a week. Dave found a job at a department store nearby and left only to come back on his first day to find Kurt curled back up under the bottom shelf of the bathroom closet, the lamp set between his large feet. Dave sighed and pulled him out. Clearly, he needed to find something more to keep him occupied while he was at work.

Dipping into his savings account, Dave brought home a big screen TV, an older model that couldn't pick up reception without one of those digital converter boxes. Kurt didn't need to see things like the news. It was better that way. He picked up a DVD player as well, choosing some musicals randomly off the shelf to go with it, and set it all up in the living room, smack in front of the couch Kurt spent curled up on most days.

After that, he'd come home to find a movie in the DVD player and Kurt watching the screen with a whacked out stare, like he was on drugs or something. At least it kept him out of the closet. Sometimes, on better days, he'd come home to find the magazines spread out on the floor, pieces of it cut out and separated into piles. Kurt had some kind of collage thing going on, so Dave brought home some poster board, glue, and various craft supplies like glitter and ribbon. If the floor got to be an unholy mess sometimes, at least it, too, kept Kurt occupied.

Most days were good. Dave would come home, the two of them would eat dinner, maybe snuggle on the couch or have sex, sometimes...sometimes he would find Kurt crying, unable to say what was wrong, but he would be in a funk for weeks and they were back to square one. Dave just sighed, tried to get food into him, helped him bathe, and tucked him into bed. Those were the days that sex was a listless, if still satisfying, affair. He'd become used to the blank stares and limp body from before, but missed, in those cycles of unresponsiveness, what the two of them had eventually turned it into-something hot and wild, fingernails down the back, loud and groaning.

It took eight months for Kurt to regain some semblance of a working brain, eight months of Dave whispering to him as they clung together in the dark. When he was finally up and around, making breakfast on his own, cleaning the house, or even chattering on about the differences between certain musicals, Dave felt proud of the progress they'd made. The pieces of Kurt's psyche were falling back into place, though taking a little longer than he thought it would.

He was able to ignore the little things, like how so much food went missing every few days or how he'd come home sometimes to find Kurt bent over the toilet, throwing up. It wasn't that big a deal. Anyone would feel sick after eating that much food in one sitting like that. At least he wasn't starving himself. He'd actually gained weight since they'd moved to New York.

And, okay, there were a few physical differences, but they were gone before Dave could pinpoint what, exactly, they were.

It was those stupid magazines that broke the calm. They came in the mail, a small pile of catalogs and a few of the women's magazines Dave had been picking up from the store every month. Each and every one was labeled 'Kurt Karofsky.'

"What were you thinking?" Dave yelled, tossing them to the floor. "Do you want them to come take you away?"

"No!" Kurt eyes widened and he shook his head. "I thought-you don't have to look for new issues now, and...and..." He bent down to scoop everything up in his arms. "And we could decorate, you know? They have-"

Dave's hand sent them flying from Kurt's arms. Later on, he wouldn't be able to recall all the words that fell from his lips as he struck out over and over with his hands and feet, but eventually he stopped, breathing heavily as Kurt lay a sobbing mess before him, curled up and bleeding into the carpet. Dave lifted his hands to find them stained red. He stepped back, denial already creeping its way into his brain.

"Look what you did," he muttered. It-it wasn't his fault. He wasn't the one who was trying to ruin everything.

Kurt reached out towards his shoe. "I'm sorry," he rasped out. "Don't leave me."

A knock at the door startled them both. Dave frowned, ignoring Kurt as he pulled himself up using Dave's arm for support.

"Police! I need you to open up, please."

Kurt drew in a sharp breath as Dave looked at him. He could end this now, before everything got out. It would be so easy.

"Go to the bedroom," he ordered. "Now."

Though limping painfully and holding an arm against his ribs, Kurt spun around and quickly made his way down the hall. Only when the that door snicked shut did Dave finally move to the front one.

He had to let the policeman, an older man named Laurent, in to see Kurt before he would leave. Kurt had managed to wipe the blood off his face, though he couldn't hide the swelling that was starting to change the planes of his face and the color of his pale skin. He simply smiled at the officer from where he lay in bed with the covers drawn up and said he was fine, it was all a big misunderstanding. Laurent threw Dave a dark look before he left.

The next few days were spent tensely waiting for the shoe that never came to drop. They were both quiet and clingy, and when home, Dave fussed over Kurt's wounds. He hadn't really meant to do that.

In the end, nothing happened. No one came, except a nosy neighbor. The woman claimed to have stopped by just to say hello, but she kept glancing in through the doorway, as if trying to get a glimpse of something-or, most likely, someone. Dave knew, without a doubt, that this Maya woman was the one who'd called the cops. Dave sent her off with a tight-lipped smile, never letting her past the front door.

A few days after that, Kurt was delighted to find a clothes catalogue show up in the mail, his new name plastered across the address label.

+

Dave came home one day to find Maya sitting on the couch next to Kurt, who was sewing a button back on one of Dave's shirts. A half-eaten piece of cake sat on the coffee table in front of her.

Kurt froze when he saw him, eyes flickering uncertainly across his face. "You're home early," he said.

"It's Friday."

"No, it's..." Kurt paused, his hands stilling over the piece of cloth.

"I should go," Maya said, glancing between the two of them. "Enjoy the cake. Maybe we'll talk more later."

Kurt walked her to the door while Dave waited with folded arms. With the door closed, Kurt returned to the coffee table, gathered the two plates up, and headed for the kitchen. He scraped them off over the trash can. Dave noted with a raised eyebrow that Kurt's still had a whole piece on it, untouched. He never seemed to eat, even when Dave came home early for Friday dinners. He'd eat a ton of food in a day or two, though, and even keep it down, so he didn't have to worry about him starving to death.

"What was she doing here?" Dave asked as Kurt started to fill the sink with hot, soapy water.

"She was just visiting."

"Visiting."

Kurt sighed. "Yes, visiting. We ate cake, gossiped like housewives, and then she went home." He glanced up with a grimace. "I can't ignore her forever, you know."

"Yeah, you can. You know what can happen."

"Nothing happened! Everything's fine."

"If she-"

Kurt turned towards the sink, shaking his head. "We're not doing this right now."

Dave grabbed him by the upper arm and jerked him back around. Before Kurt could protest, he'd pressed their lips together roughly. Kurt tensed and, when Dave moved to change the angle of their faces, pushed away. The slap was so sudden and loud that it took a moment to register. Kurt gaped at what he'd done, eyes and mouth growing huge as Dave began to glower.

He broke away and darted for the hallway, Dave on his heels. Dave was still a big guy, even if it'd been a few years since he'd played football. He tracked Kurt like he was still on the field and pushed forward, bearing Kurt downwards. Kurt hit the floor with a grunt, mouth bloodied by his teeth nicking his tongue when his chin bounced against the carpet.

In the ensuing grapple between the two, Dave got kicked in the stomach and his cheek scratched but it was Kurt who was left half-stripped of his clothes and crying.

"No," he ground out as Dave laid his heavier weight on top of him.

It had been too long. Kurt had gotten complacent in the time they'd been at the apartments. He needed to remember what he'd learned back in Lima. They were in love-on Dave's terms.

He grabbed Kurt's thin wrists from their flailing and pinned them above his head, then planted two soft kisses on his face, one for each watery eye. He slowly worked his way down, over Kurt's jawline and to his neck, where he bit down, not hard enough to break skin but just enough that Kurt gasped.

This was how it'd worked the first time they'd had actual sex. Three months in, Dave had explored every inch of Kurt's skin and knew each and every thing which made him moan. Dave kept at it, nipping, kissing, touching, until Kurt was a writhing mess underneath him. Only then did he press in, slow enough to be safe yet still an agonizing wait for the both of them. There was too much friction and tightness from the almost non-existent preparation involved but Kurt wrapped his arms around Dave's neck and pulled him closer, whimpering against his ear for more.

Their speed picked up tempo and it was over quickly after that. Dave pulled away and flopped onto his back, but Kurt curled onto his side, arms and legs bending inwards. Dave stared at his back, then reached a hand under his shirt to run it along the ridge of his spine, feeling the sobs under his fingertips.

It occurred to him, then, that this was it. He could wait all he wanted but Kurt would still be broken. There was no fixing this. He'd gotten the very thing he wanted and crushed it.

+

When Dave walked through the door, hands clenched around the square package in his arms, Kurt looked up from where he stood at the stereo, one hand hanging in the air, and blinked at him.

"What did you tell them?" Dave strode across the room and gripped Kurt's arm hard enough to bruise.

"Nothing," Kurt said, shaking his head and wringing his hands together. "They don't know I'm here."

The look on his face was the same one as when he'd locked himself in the bathroom crying because Dave was late for Friday dinner when it was only Tuesday or when he couldn't remember a whole conversation they'd had only moments before. It was that same look after the kitchen caught fire and he hadn't a clue how it started, though it was eventually pinned down to something being left cooking on the stove (this was the only time Dave was ever grateful for Maya's insistence on sticking her nose into their insular life). He wouldn't remember if he had told them.

But those guys didn't act like they knew.

Dave paced back and forth across the living room, thinking furiously to himself, while Kurt fluttered around him. He finally captured Dave's face in his hands and looked him in the eyes.

"It's okay," he said. "It'll be okay." He pulled away when Dave reached up to touch his hands and turned towards the kitchen. "It's late. I should make dinner."

Dave watched his slim form move around the other room as he pulled a pot out from one of the cabinets and started to take food out of the refrigerator. There was so much information that could be used against him in Kurt's small frame. Dave couldn't imagine things getting out to his family and, really, to the world. No one would understand. They'd think he was some kind of monster. Just because Kurt wasn't quite right in the head now, didn't mean he wasn't happy.

He had a home, someone who loved him, and everything he could want. Too bad no one else would see it that way.

As the smell of food cooking filled the kitchen, he retreated to the bedroom and rifled through the dresser drawer until he found his old letterman jacket folded up in one of the bottom drawers, where it had been sitting since they'd moved there. Kurt never touched it. Dave had worn it once their first year in New York, only to have Kurt run from him screaming.

After that first scare, when he thought Kurt had run away while he went to get groceries, he'd removed the gun from his glove compartment. It was now tucked away in his letterman jacket where it would remain untouched unless he needed it.

He quickly checked to make sure the bullets were still loaded and the gun in working order before folding it back into the material and returning the bundle to its drawer. There was still time. He wouldn't need it today.

In the kitchen, Kurt was setting out the dishes, laying the silverware carefully besides their plates. Dave didn't know why he bothered to be so particular about it and only got a muttered response about 'etiquette' the one and only time he'd asked.

Kurt picked at his food, moving it around his plate but never actually lifting any of the pasta to his mouth.

"You should eat something," Dave said.

Kurt's mouth dropped open in surprise and he cast his eyes downward, then scooped a small bit of food onto his fork. He took that one bite but returned to playing with his food immediately after.

Dave sighed. That was a start, right?

The clank of utensils scraping and tapping against their plates was the only sound in the room as they sat in silence.


End file.
